The Dissolution

The dream unravels— silk threads pulling back through morning light, each color draining toward white.

I reach through the dissolving dark, fingers grasping at names that slip like water through my palms.

In this suspended minute, I am both the dreamer and the waking, both the voice and the echo of its fading.

Then the light wins. My eyes open. The world is hard, sharp, real— and I am tethered to it again.